


White Lines on the Blacktop

by orphan_account



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Depression, M/M, My Normal Dark Themes™, References to Prostitution, Self-Esteem Issues, dub-con, non-explicit non-con references, references to illicit and/or illegal activities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were a little over a hundred miles in between Charlotte and Atlanta, and dust blew in his face as cars passed by the outstretched hand, the thumb aimed toward the clear August sky.</p><p>All in all, it was another day in the life of Trowa Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Georgia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Manwell (Manniness)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Roadside Attraction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330435) by [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton). 



> Thanks to **The Manwell** for all the late night feels that helped shape this up!

There were a little over a hundred miles in between Charlotte and Atlanta, but he barely covered thirty of them before the car was stuttering, coasting to a stop on the side of 185 and leaving him a little closer than where he started. So he left the car, sliding his pack into place and getting off the interstate. The small dirt path leaving the interstate took him into Hamilton, where a handful of stolen money bought him a water bottle and a bag of chips for breakfast as he headed down the highway. Dust blew in his face as cars passed by the outstretched hand, the thumb aimed toward the clear August sky.

All in all, it was another day in the life of Trowa Barton.

He was out of Hamilton by seven in the morning, and when the afternoon sun was darkening the back of his neck even more, sweat dotting his skin and dampening his hair and clothes, he’d only covered another ten miles. His water bottle was nearly empty, the bag of chips long gone, and his arm muscles burning as he was ignored by the drivers on the strip of asphalt. He’d seen a couple vehicles slow down, but none of them ever stopped, only offering him sympathetic looks or sneers.

Both he was familiar with. Trowa knew he looked worse for wear, his clothes sunbleached and worn, holes in his shoes and dirt darkening his skin further than it already was. He looked exactly like he was, a man with nowhere to belong.

He’d have to break away from the side of the road soon, find a place to sleep for the night and try again tomorrow. The sun was beginning to descend in the sky, going from bright yellow to a darker orange as the hour passed, and as he was ready to call it a day, the sound of gears shifting, tires screeching, and a few short blares of a horn had him turning around, brow furrowing. A dark sedan was pulling off to the side of the road behind Trowa, and when another three taps on the horn sounded, Trowa adjusted his bag and jogged up to the passenger side. The tinted window rolled down, and in the dark interiour of the car all he could see was a pale face, dark hair, and sunglasses, wearing a smile.

“Need a ride?” the stranger asked, his voice deep and rich, friendly and inviting. At Trowa’s nod, the sound of a lock clicking sealed the deal. Trowa pulled the door open, slid into the car at the same time he pulled the pack off his back and settled into the soft leather seat. With his bag at his feet, he closed the door. The window stayed down, and the car didn’t move. Trowa looked over to see the man regarding him.

“Seatbelt,” he instructed, and Trowa pulled the strap over his chest, locking it into place and then looking at him again with a raised brow. All he got was a smile, and then he was jerked backward as the man floored it.

Trowa finally rolled the window up when the wind became too much, and took the chance to look over his companion. He was pretty, hair pulled back into a braid that draped over his left shoulder, pale skin that glowed a bit from the dashboard lights. His clothes were dark, formless in the dim light, the sun not doing much against the tinted windows. Much too dark, he decided, to be legal.

“So you have a name, stranger?” the driver asked, and Trowa shrugged.

“Do you?”

“Name’s Duo,” he answered, and lowered his shades to show a flash of dark blue, waiting, and finally looked back at the road after Trowa reluctantly responded.

“Trowa.”

“Well, Trowa, where are you heading to?” When Trowa only shrugged, Duo continued. “I’m stopping in Atlanta to drop off some papers, then it’s straight to California. Let me know when you want off this ride, yeah?”

It had been a couple years since he’d been in California, but it was a long drive. _Days_ , which meant that it would cost something. Something that the man wasn’t being upfront about. So Trowa didn’t answer, merely giving a noncommittal hum, and took to watching the withered grass along the edge of the highway fly by in a blur of mottled browns and greens.

Atlanta came up fast, Duo heading downtown, pulling in front of a large building with reflective panels on the exteriour and a grouping of last names declaring the lawyers who owned it. Duo parked, unlocked the doors, and then gestured for Trowa to hop out.

“Stretch your legs, it’ll only be a minute. I want out of this fucking state by sunset.” The bitterness caught Trowa by surprise, and as the man vanished behind the front doors Trowa reached the understanding that he wasn’t the only one trying to outrun their demons.  When Duo came back out of the building, eyes hidden behind the dark shades and his jaw clenched tightly, Trowa tightened his hand around the leather strap of his bag.

“Let’s go,” Duo said, unlocking the doors. They retook their seats, and when Duo turned on the radio, music blasting from the speakers, Trowa closed his eyes and rested his head against the window.

It wasn’t his problem. Asking questions only opened up the opportunity for someone else to dig into his own life, and it wasn’t worth it. Whatever shit had this guy running for California was nothing Trowa needed to know, or get involved in. He had enough of his own problems to deal with without inviting more trouble.

He was drawn out of his thoughts as the gear shifted down, subtle but distinct in the well-kept car, and as he focused on the view outside his window he saw them pulling into a parking lot, Duo humming along with the lead singer screaming over the stereo. Adrenaline rushed through Trowa, and he slid his hand into his pocket, fingers wrapping around the hilt of the switchblade, wondering what the man was planning.

“Hungry?” Duo asked, coming to a stop in a parking space, shifting the car into park and turning the engine off. They were sitting in front of a diner, chrome and red and checkered patterns, tacky and stereotypical of a roadside venue. Trowa didn’t release the blade, and Duo seemed to finally notice the tension radiating from Trowa’s form.

“Hey, relax. It’s just food. Ain’t gonna hurt ya or nothin’,” he said, the hints of an accent rising as he waved his hands in front of his face, showing that he was unarmed, trying to appear harmless. “S’only a hot meal. You could use several of ‘em, you’re a god damn bean pole.”

Trowa frowned, but released the knife, slowly opening the door and getting out. When Duo didn’t stop him, he let himself relax, watching with wary eyes as Duo did the same, closing and locking the car door.

“I hear their milkshakes are to die for,” Duo said, cheerful and cordial, much more like when he’d first pulled up beside Trowa earlier that day as compared to when they left Atlanta. Whatever mood had settled over him had faded, or been masked, as Trowa could still see the pinched skin around his eyes, the slight furrow in his brow. Masked, but not forgotten.

The diner was as tacky inside as it was outside, though several degrees cooler. It was also clean, chrome and lacquered surfaces reflecting the fluorescent panels in the ceiling, and Trowa was a smudge of dirt in the historical fantasy. He could feel eyes on him already, feel the judgement coming from the other customers and the staff.

 _Bum. Hobo. Trash_.

The waitress only wrinkled her nose a little as she approached, which was far more polite than some reactions he’d received when stepping into a restaurant. Trowa didn’t make eye contact, focusing instead on the décor, the colour scheme, and watching as Duo arranged a table for them, a booth that was slightly set away from the rest of the sparse crowd.

_They think you smell. Which you do. It’s only fair._

“Rude,” Duo muttered as the waitress left before asking what they wanted to drink. Trowa shrugged, picking up the glass of ice water that had been provided and drinking half of it in one breath.

“Normal,” Trowa corrected, keeping his voice quiet. Duo’s eyes sharpened, focusing on Trowa, and he felt a light flush form on his face as he added, “I smell.”

“No, you don’t,” Duo said, and Trowa shrugged, keeping his head down, his hair falling forward to shield his face from the rest of the diner, from Duo. Isolating him, a physical barrier that did more for his peace of mind than it did to conceal his presence. “I just sat in a closed space with you for a couple hours, Trowa. If you smelled, I would have noticed.”

 _He’s lying. He still hasn’t told you what you ‘owe’ him yet, and he’s trying to win you over_.

A laminated menu was shoved under Trowa’s line of vision, and he jerked his head back, eyes darting up to look at Duo, who held it out to him with only a brow raised in question. Trowa took the menu, looking over the food that didn’t match the menu prices or the décor.

“Get whatever, man. You’re skin an’ bones.” The words were meant to be reassuring, Trowa suspected, but all it did was cause his stomach to knot. To add an even bigger price tag to the impending cost of this man’s ‘generosity’ toward Trowa.

_Nothing in this life is free. You know better than that. How much are you willing to pay back? Is it worth the cost, Trowa? What will you have to do for seven-ninety-nine plus tax?_

Sadly, Trowa mused, he’d do a lot for $7.99. He’d done more for less, and he’d done less for more. While Duo was studying the menu like it held the secrets of the universe in the smudged lines of ink, Trowa took the time to study _him_. Now that they weren’t in the dim interiour of the car, he could see the man was attractive. Narrow brows over wide eyes, a strange shade of blue that reflected a purple sheen as the light hit them. A narrow bridge that dipped into an upturned nose, with thin lips underneath. There was a hint of hair growing on his upper lip, along his jaw, and Trowa wondered how often he had to shave to keep his baby-face looking like it did. Was it every day, or was it every now-and-then, like his deceptively young features indicated?

There were signs of age, though. It was in the creases around his eyes, around his mouth. In the way he squinted as he looked at the menu. There was no ring around his irises to indicate he was wearing contacts; he needed them, then. The dark smudges under his eyes that gave away countless nights spent awake, though not dark enough for it to have been years yet. He’d stopped sleeping recently, or finally began to catch up on those missed nights.

But it didn’t make him undesirable, repulsive. It just meant that Duo looked as tired as Trowa felt. A week or two of solid sleep would fix any problems the man had. A week or two would leave Trowa right where he was when he started.

The length of Duo’s hair was amazing; Trowa couldn’t see where it ended, and he hadn’t considered looking while they were still standing, too focused on _not_ making eye contact with anyone while they were coming into the diner. But it was still thickly braided at the point where it dipped beneath the table, and so his eyes trailed back up Duo’s arms, covered in a red-and-black checkered flannel shirt, a black shirt covering his chest under that, and a gold chain that vanished under _that_ at his neck. There was a dark line on the side of his neck beneath the chain, and while it could be a shadow, he doubted it. That chain had been on for a long time, the tarnish rubbing off on pale skin. If he touched it, would it feel calloused? Or was it just a cheap chain?

“You know what you’re getting?”

Trowa jerked his gaze from where he was studying the man’s throat back up to the glimmering eyes of the person it belonged to. His eyes dropped again to his menu, studying the overpriced food, before giving a small nod.

“Good. Because Miss Sniffs-a-lot is coming back.”

The waitress who had seated them was indeed coming back, and the closer she stepped, Duo’s glare narrowed in time with the wrinkle in her nose. She eyed Trowa’s water, only ice remaining in the glass, then fixed her gaze on Duo.

“What can I get ya, hun?”

“You can get _us_ ,” Duo emphasized, a smirk forming as the woman flushed, “some drinks to start with. I’m feeling like a coke. Trowa?”

“Coffee,” he mumbled, finding looking at his menu safer than watching their exchange. “And the number three.”

“Fries with that?” she asked, and Trowa nodded.

“I’m going to have the same thing,” Duo said, folding the menu and setting it down on the table. Trowa didn’t look up, watching from the corner of his eye as she shifted on unevenly shaved legs. It looked as if someone had smeared grease down beneath her left knee with two fingers. The shiny patch of paler skin below that told him that she taught herself to shave, many mishaps showing in faint scars along her skin. There was another, larger patch of hair that vanished by her ankle into the white sock, and black shoes squeaked slightly on the checkered linoleum as she walked away.

“You stare a lot,” Duo commented, and Trowa jerked his shoulder in a harsh shrug, one arm coming across his stomach, clenching his elbow as he grabbed his drink, swallowing air before he remembered it was empty. He didn’t set it down, though, letting the ice chill his fingers and sink through the layers of muscle in a slow, agonizing burn that wasn’t painful enough to move away from.

“Let me know if they fucked with your food, ‘kay?” Duo said, pushing his water across the table toward Trowa. “I ordered the same thing just in case, but well, people are petty.”

Trowa eyed the water for several moments, not giving a response. He finally shifted, his hand moving forward to set down the empty cup and pick up the full one, bringing it back to his mouth so he could drink.

He could see in the corner of his vision Duo shifting, an elbow coming to rest on top of the shiny menu, brown shifting behind that as he rested his head on his upturned palm. When Trowa flicked his gaze up for a moment, Duo was watching _him_. Trowa closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then slid sideways, pushing himself to his feet, and mumbling something that didn’t come out as the words he intended. He ran to the bathroom, closing the door behind him, and after the third attempt at locking the door figured out there _was_ no lock. He leaned his forehead against the metal, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensation of the water dripping from his fingers, the plastic cup shaking in his grip, the ice rattling inside.

_It’s been too long since someone talked to you this much._

Trowa set the glass down on the sink, turning the water on and sticking his hands under the spray. It was cold, colder than the glass he’d been holding. Colder than the vice gripping his lungs, and he scrubbed at his hands, watching the dirt and soap mix in a filthy swirl in the basin. He put more soap on him, scrubbing harder, scrubbing until the suds started turning pink, until his fingers and nails stung from the cuts, and then he scrubbed at his face, at his neck, at the exposed skin on his legs. He scrubbed under his arms, fingers scratching through the coarse hairs, pulling away the dirt and the _smell_.

_It won’t make a difference. You’ll never look good enough to fool anyone. You can only be what you are. A desperate fuck._

He whined low in the back of his throat, scrubbing at his face with paper towels, pressing them against his eyes until his vision went painfully red and white. When he looked in the mirror, his skin was still too dark, rubbed red and raw. Red lines streaked away from hazel-green irises, hazy and lifeless. His bangs were damp, hints of red showing in the dirty brown, and all he could tell was that he was as filthy as when he left that morning for Atlanta.

 _You’ll always be filthy. Look at what you are._ Look _._

Trowa didn’t look. He turned the water off, wiped away the ring of dirt in the basin, and dried the counter. He then used one of the stalls, washed his hands again, and picked the glass back up and left the bathroom.

Their food was on the table as he sat down. A new glass of water was in both spots, and steam drifted from the white mug beside it. Duo didn’t comment on how long Trowa took in the bathroom, and Trowa didn’t offer. He set down the glass, picked up the coffee, and breathed in the bitter brew before sipping at it. Watery, tasted slightly like dirt. It was perfect. He set down the empty mug, picking up a couple of fries and nibbling at them.

There was enough food on his plate to more than fill him. It was enough food to feed Trowa for a couple _days_ , if he rationed it right. But the meat would spoil in the summer heat, and it would attract insects and other vermin if he carried it around. He swallowed the mess of chewed potato, shoving three more fries into his mouth and chewing faster. If he couldn’t take it with him, he’d have to eat it all. Even if it made him sick.

“Ketchup?” Duo asked, holding up the glass bottle. Trowa shook his head, and Duo tipped it over his own plate, smacking the bottom several times until a messy spray of red covered the yellow-gold sticks, and part of the table as well. With exaggerated slowness, he righted the bottle, screwed the lid back on, and set it back in the little condiment caddy at the edge of the booth. Trowa hid his amusement behind another handful of fries.

Soon the fries were gone, and Trowa began to dismantle the burger. He ate the bread first, the mayo, ketchup, and mustard starting to turn the underside soggy. Then he picked off the onions, pickles, and tomato, popping them into his mouth one at a time, before wrapping the lettuce up into a tube and nibbling on it. When all that was left on his plate was a single hamburger patty, the cheese riddled with dips and bumps from where the lettuce had been pressed against it, he stared at it for a while, chewing his lip. His stomach felt tight, his throat clogged, nausea clawing at his tongue, but he picked up the fork and sliced a piece away, biting into it and forcing himself to swallow.

“Hey, if you’re full, don’t force yourself,” Duo spoke up, breaking the silence that had fallen over both of them. Trowa’s fork hovered over the patty, ready to cut into it again. They held eye contact for several seconds before Duo sighed, stretching his legs out under the table as he slouched in his seat.

“Whatever. Do your thing.” His own plate sat in front of him, long finished as Trowa had picked away at his own sandwich, making it last as long as possible. The waitress passed by several times, refilling their drinks as she did, her nose always crinkling as she set her eyes on the two of them. Each time she made her rounds, he felt his skin prickle, the urge to scratch at his arms increasing, the fluorescents growing brighter, the world a little _too_ bright and a little _too_ loud, and he wasn’t sure if the nausea he felt now was from overstimulation or overstuffing his stomach. But soon his plate was empty, his body filled, and the diner empty.

“Let’s get out of here,” Duo said, and Trowa pushed to his feet, steadying himself on the back of the seat of the booth, and trailed after Duo as he paid the bill. He felt his shoulders relaxing as the door closed behind them, twilight having overtaken the sky, headlights dotting the horizon. The lights on the car flashed a couple times as Duo unlocked the door, and Trowa got in the seat, clutching his bag and leaning against the window.

“Look, I gotta know if you’re staying tonight,” Duo said once his door was closed, keys in the ignition but not yet turned over. Trowa tensed, and Duo quickly followed with, “I want out of Georgia tonight, but if you don’t want to leave the state, I gotta know, y’know? I’m getting a room once we get across the state line. You’re welcome to join me there, or you can do your own thing. I’m not kidnappin’ ya, or kickin’ ya to the curb.”

_What if you left now? What would Duo ask for in the car? Would it be better than what he’d want in a hotel?_

But how long has it been since Trowa slept in a bed? Even if he had to turn a trick to get in, he wanted to shower. He wanted to sleep inside. He might even be able to wash his clothes in the shower, and while it wouldn’t be as clean as using a laundromat, it was cheaper and would leave him smelling less than he did now.

_So you’ll stick your ass out for a hot shower. You’re pathetic, Barton._

“I’ll go with you,” he mumbled, voice muffled by the thick leather bag. Duo nodded, turning the car on and putting it in reverse. The radio blared to life, so sudden and loud that Trowa jumped, smacking his head against the window as he reached for his knife again.

“Sorry,” Duo said, turning the volume down. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you up when I stop for the night. Lemme know if you’re gonna be sick, ‘kay?”

Trowa hummed, shifting so that his head was pillowed on his bag, legs stretched out under the dash as he watched the lights pass by outside the window. They were little dots spinning and swirling in the darkness as the moon moved through the sky. Clouds would steal the thin sliver of light, only to give it back again. His mind drifted with them, his thoughts floating absently along as they put more miles behind them.

Duo was singing along with the songs, his voice a soft buzz in the background of Trowa’s musings. He could feel sleep pulling at his senses, trying to lull him away from reality, and he struggled to keep his eyes open, to stop himself from dozing like his body yearned to do.

“I’m pulling off at the next exit,” Duo said, and Trowa hummed, shifting and stretching his legs in the small space provided. The dash showed in bright green lights that it was a little past two in the morning, and the car shifted gears as it slowed, taking the ramp off the interstate and leading them down, around, and to a small motel not far from the exit. Duo came to a stop, putting the car in park and turning the engine off.

“Well, get your shit, I’ll get us a room. Don’t take off with the car or anything, yeah?” Duo slid out, taking his keys with him, and Trowa watched him as he went into the brightly-lit lobby, void of anyone except his driver and the night clerk. The conversation didn’t last long, Duo’s arms moving with his lips, looking far too awake for the time of night it was, and from the flat expression on the desk clerk’s face he wasn’t alone in that thought. Keys were handed over, a jaunty wave from Duo ending the interaction, and when he slid back in the car, the cheerful demeanor slid away, exhaustion replacing it.

“We’re right around the side. Check out is 10am,” Duo said, reversing from the parking spot and twisting the wheel to the right, the car lurching in the same direction. Duo hadn’t lied. Not even a minute later, the car was parked and off again, Duo opening the door to grab a suitcase from the trunk. Trowa just lifted his bag back onto his shoulder as he closed the passenger side door.

 _This is it,_ Trowa thought, as bile formed in the back of his throat. _Now is when you pay your way. Once you step into that room, all bets are off. You should have offered road-head while you had the chance._

Trowa followed Duo into the motel room, noting the two twin beds separated by a single nightstand and lamp.

 _It was most likely the only one left at this time of night_ , Trowa decided, sliding his bag around to clutch in front of him, a barrier between him and reality, fingers digging into the well-worn leather as Duo dropped his own suitcase on one of the beds, unzipping it and digging through the neatly-folded laundry within.

“I swear I put sleeping pants in—aha! And look, my shower kit. Good going, Maxwell, did something right for once,” he said, the soft mutters not quiet enough for Trowa to pretend he couldn’t hear.

“Did you want to go first?” Duo asked, looking up as if remembering that he wasn’t alone. Trowa looked down at the carpet, relatively stain-free and clean. For the size of the room, it wasn’t _seedy_. It felt wrong for him to be in here. A few flecks of dirt from his shoes were already clinging to the beige fibers. Nausea rolled through his stomach again, and he shook his head back and forth.

“Suit yourself. Can’t promise the water’ll be hot,” Duo warned, grabbing his braid. “This thing’s a pain in the ass when it comes to soap.”

 _Not as much as the pain in your ass will be, come dawn_ , Trowa’s traitorous mind interjected. It did nothing to help ease back the vomit threatening to appear. His mouth tasted sour, his tongue running over the grainy film on the back of his teeth as he chewed his lower lip.

 _You could make a run for it while he’s in there_ , he reminded himself. _He can’t fuck you ten ways to Sunday if you’re not_ here _._

But there was nowhere to go, and that’s what had Trowa setting his bag down on the floor beside a bed, toeing his shoes off and placing them beside what remained of his worldly possessions. He slipped the shirt off over his head, folding it neatly and putting it on top of the bag, and then undid the fastenings of his jeans and pushed them off with his briefs. His socks were the last to come off, and he stored them inside his shoes, one for each foot. He dug through the side pocket of his bag until the small bottle rested in his shaking palm.

Trowa knelt on the bed, popping the lid open and pushing out some of the gel into his other hand. It only took one time for him to learn to prep himself beforehand; he couldn’t trust the other guy to take the time and do it for him. He closed his eyes, ignoring the always disarming sensation of something going _in_ instead of out, making sure to get as much of the lube as deep as he could with the first few thrusts. Then he worked on opening himself up, spreading the lube against his walls as he made his entrance large enough for Duo to take. He didn’t know how large the other man was, but he doubted the man would be a four-finger job; he couldn’t have hidden that behind the thin pants he’d been wearing today.

His cock was still soft, Trowa having avoided any self-stimulation. He might have to take it to pay for Duo’s kindness, but he wasn’t going to pretend it felt good. He knew his body would respond enough as Duo started fucking him, but he didn’t have to give himself a hand with that.

He wanted to throw up. But instead, he grabbed a couple tissues from the nightstand and wiped his hand clean, kneeling on the bed to wait for Duo to finish in the shower. When the water turned off, Trowa’s heart clenched, and the soft humming he could hear through the door had sweat beading on his forehead. He couldn’t quite hide the tremor in his limbs as the door opened, and he closed his eyes so he couldn’t see Duo’s reaction.

He didn’t need to see it, though. He heard it well enough. The sharp intake of breath, a couple moments of silence, and then a strangled, _“What the fuck, Trowa?!”_ filling the small room. Trowa flinched, his hands wanting to move in front of him, to hide his manhood from sight, but he didn’t dare. Something heavy draped over him, and hands gripped his shoulders tightly through the thick fabric. Trowa’s eyes flew open, looking up into the furious purple-hued eyes of his driver.

“What the fuck is this?!”

Trowa licked his lips, his voice shaking as he answered, “M-my payment?” His thoughts were hazy, confusion swelling, mixing with the nausea that had plagued him since the first bite into the burger. He tugged the blanket around himself tighter without thought. “F-for the r-ride, and the- and the food?”

Duo let go of him, taking a few steps back until his knees hit the other bed, knocking him down onto his ass. He let his head fall into his hands, damp strands of hair falling around his arms, sticking to pale skin as he shook his head back and forth.

“Fuck. Fucking hell. This—Get dressed, Trowa. Just. Get clothes on.”

Trowa didn’t move, his fingers clamped into the blanket, keeping it closed. It was the blanket from Duo’s bed, the thick comforter warm against his bare skin, and he wondered if the cleaning ladies in the morning would be annoyed that he was most likely leaving grime on it, his sweat working as an adhesive for the mess that coated his body.

He should have showered first. Now he was going to have to find a place to sleep tonight, filthy and slicked up. Maybe if he stood on the corner for a while, he could pick up another ride. Pay beforehand, even, while he was still ready for it.

“I am too fucking tired to deal with this. Just—We’ll talk in the morning, okay? Get dressed and go to sleep, Trowa,” Duo said, his voice dropping to a normal, calmer volume.

“Your blanket—?” Trowa asked, yet didn’t move, didn’t slide the comforter off, didn’t try to give it back.

“I’ll be fine. You need it more than me right now. Did you still want to shower? There’s soap and towels in there if you don’t have your own. Take as long as you want. If you need clothes to change into, look in my suitcase. They might be a bit small for you, fair warning.”

Trowa didn’t move, and neither did Duo. Finally, Trowa opened his mouth, asking, voice hoarse, “Why?”

“Because you don’t really want to do this. I wasn’t offering a quick fuck, I was offering you a ride. That’s all. A ride, someplace to sleep, some food in your stomach, that’s all I’m giving you until you decide you want to move on. Understand? You don’t have to do—do that. Ever. I’m not gonna—It’s not part of the deal.”

Trowa felt his eyes burning, and he pressed the fabric of the blanket against his face to hide the tears. The light in the room dimmed, rustling sheets and a sigh muffling the sound of Trowa’s shuddering breaths.

“Good night, Trowa.”


	2. Tennessee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trowa wasn't sure why he wasn't running yet. He blamed the hopeful voice in his head, the part of him that wanted better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Edit 6/27/16:** Has now been edited ^_^ Nothing plot-wise changed, just fixed wording/grammatical issues.

The pants were short in the legs, but fit right around his waist. The shirt left a good portion of his midriff visible, and pulled at the shoulders, needing more room than was available in the cotton fabric. He’d taken his clothes into the shower with him, washing them with the cheap motel soap under the shower spray, brown water running down the drain and staining the rim of the tub. He left them hanging over the edge of the shower rod, translucent drops gathering into a puddle onto the floor. The blanket he left in the corner of the small room, not wanting to dirty anything else with it.

Trowa wouldn’t go as far as to say that he never climbed between the sheets with clean hair, skin, and clothes. But it was rare enough that each time left his heart pounding, anxiety clinging to his lungs and throat, his body thrumming with nerves. While exhaustion clawed at his mind, the desire to draw this out, to enjoy the luxury as long as he could, also pulled at him, warring with his need to rest. When would be the next time this happened? When would he get the chance to go to sleep in a bed after showering, without having the smell of sex in the air, or another body pressing against him from behind? Without hands touching him, breath or hair tickling his neck and face?

He wouldn’t go as far to say he never climbed between the sheets while being clean, but it was the first time since he started living like this that he’d done it alone.

Eventually, though, his mind shut down, and he slept. When he woke, it was to the sound of the bathroom door closing, the pipes rattling as the toilet flushed, and the sink turning on. Soft humming reached him through the door, a tune he didn’t know but matched the beat of several of the songs the driver had been listening to on the radio. He didn’t know what time it was, having pawned his watch years ago, and not owning a phone or other useful time-telling device. The room didn’t offer anything for him, either, and if Duo had a phone, Trowa hadn’t seen it.

The door opened again, and Duo stepped out, wiping at his face with a towel, shuffling forward in pants that were too large for him, the hem covering his feet as he made his way to the bed. His hair was neatly braided again, and he threw the towel onto the sheets as he reached down to pull his suitcase back up to see what was inside.

“Do you need something to wear today?” Duo asked, not looking up at Trowa as he lifted clothes out and set them beside the bag. Trowa shook his head, sliding out of bed and tugging the shirt down in a futile attempt to cover his stomach. Once he let go of the hem, it slid back up, his navel once again visible, as well as the curve of his lower abs. He felt exposed, and he gestured to the bathroom.

“I washed them.”

Duo looked up, confused for a moment, before rolling his eyes and throwing a shirt toward Trowa.

“You wore them yesterday. Here, just put this on.”

Trowa held up the shirt, the material soft and well-worn in his hands. He felt his face flushing, his stomach clenching.

“It’s all I own,” Trowa whispered, fingers tightening on the cloth. “It’s all I have to wear. You can’t—I can’t afford—”

“Look, I know,” Duo said, sighing, pushing his bangs back with a hand and looking at Trowa. The assessing stare started a tremor forming inside of him, wanting to break out, but he tightened his muscles to stop it from showing. “I’m not charging you for the clothes. Or any of this.”

“I don’t take charity,” Trowa said, his voice sharp, loud, and Duo crossed his arms, opening his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it, huffing out a long breath through his nose. Irritation deepened the creases around his eyes, his lips pinching together as if holding back his thoughts were a painful endeavour. When he did speak again, his voice was calmer, mellow, softer than the tone Trowa had offered him. It loosened a knot that had been forming in Trowa’s throat, his posture relaxing as his instincts to fight faded.

“Just get dressed. We’ll figure out the terms of repayment on the way. _Which_ ,” Duo stressed, “do not involve you performing sexual favours. That’s off the table entirely.”

He didn’t want to believe Duo, but the driver had already proven that sex wasn’t a motivation. Last night had been the first time someone had not taken advantage of what Trowa had offered. Duo could have used him for his own pleasure, or kicked him to the curb instead of letting him stay after his shameful display. Instead, Duo had covered Trowa up, offering him his decency back, letting him regain a shred of what dignity remained, and then went to sleep in the other bed, giving him a chance to regroup in the shower. It was more than anyone else had offered him, more than he deserved.

Plaid blocked his vision, and he reached up, pulling a long-sleeved button-down from off his head, bemused. Duo’s eyes glimmered with mischief, the weariness easing with his growing amusement.

“Come on, sleepy head. You can daydream in the car, yeah? I’ll go check us out, you get changed. There’s an extra toothbrush on the counter if you wanna.”

Duo walked out of the motel room, the door clicking closed behind him, and Trowa moved into the bathroom, relieving himself and scrubbing the hard bristles against his teeth and gums. Oral hygiene wasn’t a big concern of his, not when a place to sleep, a ride along the side of the road, food in his stomach, or a couple dollars in his pocket took priority. Things like cleanliness or appearance took time, energy, and money he didn’t have to spare. He wouldn’t deny that the tingling of the paste on his sore gums felt good, though. To not feel the film of build-up whenever his tongue brushed the back of his teeth was also enjoyable.

“Ready?” Duo called out, and Trowa turned the water off, pocketing the toothbrush and paste and opening the door. It felt strange wearing Duo’s clothes; they were still snug on him, though better than what Trowa had found for himself the night before. The button-down fit as long as he didn’t try to do it up, and the pants were stretchy at the waist, leaving him with room to breathe.

“So, breakfast first, then talking. Gotta figure out what we’re doing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Trowa mumbled, getting into the passenger seat and clutching his bag on his lap. His semi-clean clothes were folded within, padding his few precious belongings, and as Duo pulled away from the motel, the heat of the day promised to be as harsh as the day before.

Breakfast was placed at a speaker, and picked up at a window by a young teenager with dyed hair and heavy eyeliner. Giggles and smiles were exchanged, along with dollar bills and paper bags, and when the windows closed, the smell of fried foods and grease filled the small space. Duo sighed, stretching his back as he waited for a gap in the traffic to let them rejoin the flow of the mid-day rush.

“Dig in,” Duo offered, joints popping as he twisted from side to side. Trowa hesitated before reaching into the bag, pulling out a container of fries and nibbling on each one slowly. He wasn’t going to do a repeat of last night, where he ate until he felt sick; he only needed to eat enough to take the edge off, to get into the comfortable zone between ‘need to eat now’ and ‘no longer hungry’.

Duo managed to merge into traffic by Trowa’s fifth fry. By the time the box was empty, only grease-stained cardboard taking up space in the bag, Duo had taken them back to the highway, his own burger unwrapped and held in his left hand as he steered with his right. The speedometer showed Duo going far faster than the posted signs limited, but the man didn’t seem to care, humming along to a tune only he could hear.

“So, are you planning on going all the way to Cali with me?” Duo asked, breaking the peaceful silence that had fallen over them, and reminding Trowa that he was an intruder in this tranquility. An unwanted, unnecessary presence. That while Duo had all the time in the world, Trowa’s time was limited, narrowed down to the driver’s tolerance and Trowa’s ability to pay Duo back. This reminder should not have affected Trowa so much, yet his mouth was dry, his heart pounding as he gave a half-hearted shrug.

The silence stretched, and in the reflection of the tinted windows, Trowa watched Duo’s brows furrow, watched him glance over at Trowa as if that would provide more answers than his passenger had offered. Trowa’s body must not have offered Duo much, as he finally asked, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s an ‘ _I don’t fucking know’_ ,” Trowa said, his voice taking on a sharp edge. He clenched his fists and forced himself to take a deep breath. It was dangerous to incite a driver; a truth he well knew, but often found himself testing. Duo didn’t seem ready to lash out, nor did he act as if he would pull over to the side of the road. Instead, he rolled his shoulders, tipping his head to the side and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, his eyes back on the road ahead of them.

“I’m not forcing your hand,” Duo said, voice softening. “If you decide you want to, and you change your mind, I’m not going to get angry. And if you don’t want to, and then you decide later that California sounds good, you’re welcome to stay. It’s not an ultimatum. It’s so I know what the plan is at the moment. If I should keep an eye out for your exit, or just cruise until the sun sets.”

Trowa bit his lip, blood swelling around his teeth and brushing against his tongue. But it helped, settled him into a calmer state where his thoughts weren’t racing and trying to determine what angles Duo was playing. The driver had thrown off Trowa’s normal ability to judge the situation, clearly taking _‘He only wants to fuck me_ ’ off the table. The man’s motives were unclear now, his intentions unknown, and this both terrified and thrilled Trowa.

_You should leave now. It’s too dangerous_ , his mind warned. But a small corner of his mind, one he hadn’t heard since before his life went to shit, urged him to do the exact opposite.

_Do you want to risk ruining a good thing? When was the last time someone treated you like a person, and not a boy-toy? The next guy who picks you up won’t be as kind. Good things don’t happen to people like us._

And Trowa couldn’t help but agree with the new, tiny hope building in his heart, even though the rest of him screamed at his foolishness.

“Just—” Trowa swallowed hard, his voice hoarse. “Just keep driving.”

_Keep driving until I can’t remember why I’m still here._

Duo didn’t stay on the interstate for long, soon pulling off and taking the highways. He seemed determined to avoid any of the larger cities, his familiarity with the road apparent, but Trowa didn’t dwell on that thought. He _couldn’t_. It would allow more questions to form, questions that he wasn’t ready to ask, answers that he wasn’t ready to offer.

Some music was turned on outside of Fayetteville, and Duo was singing along by the time they were out of Frankewing. It was right before they crossed out of Tennessee that Duo’s phone rang through the car’s speaker system, jarring Trowa from the half-doze he’d fallen into and cutting Duo’s voice off.

“Maxwell, where the _fuck_ are you?!”

The voice was loud, causing Trowa’s heart to start pounding despite the miles that must be between them and the person on the other side of the line.

“Hey, buddy boy!” Duo said, voice full of cheer. But the way the corners of his eyes pinched behind the dark frames of his sunglasses didn’t match. “Long time, no talk! How’s the wife—?”

“Drop the act. Where. The fuck. Are you?”

“I’d say ten miles from Kentucky, but that’s probably not what you wanna hear. Can I call you back?”

“Don’t you fucking—!”

“Gotta go!”

Duo hung up, cutting through a long expletive that didn’t quite yet form a real word. The silence in the car after rang heavy in Trowa’s ears, reverberating with a tension that even the start of a rock ballad on the radio didn’t break.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Duo murmured, his right hand picking at the nail on his index finger with his thumb, while the left tapped out a tempo that didn’t match the bass of the drummer’s solo. “S’bout time for lunch, anyway. Let’s get out and stretch a bit. Get some food. Get yelled at. All that fun shit.”

_At least someone wonders,_ Trowa thought, the viciousness tearing through his chest, hot and unexpected. _At least you have someone who still asks. Don’t take that for granted!_

He couldn’t recall the last time someone would have asked where he was, even when he had a place to go back to. The air sweltered in the car as they crossed the border into Kentucky, and it wasn’t from the heat of the day.

Trowa _hated_ this state.


	3. Kentucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It never crossed his mind that he could leave, find a new ride, or start walking along the highway again. At some point in the last twenty-four hours, leaving had no longer become a viable option.

A weight dropped down on Trowa’s shoulders as soon as they crossed the border. It draped across him, clutching at his chest and making every breath a long, painful draw in and out. It sank into his blood, slow and heavy, dragging him down and imprisoning him. When Duo pulled off to the side of the road at a small rest area with a single building offering vending machines, phone booths, and bathroom stalls, Trowa undid his belt and got out, barely hearing Duo’s parting words.

“I’ll be about fifteen, if you wanna stretch for a while.”

The door slammed behind Trowa, the heavy metal echoing in the mostly-empty building. A couple guys were leaning against the wall behind the vending machine, squatting over a bag. The older, darker guy had both hands immersed inside, while the younger, hairier guy held it open. The jingling of change reached Trowa’s ears, along with the rattle of a half-empty pill bottle. He ignored the two as he rushed into the men’s bathroom. There were six stalls, two missing their doors, and a counter with three sinks. Modern renovation attempts had been made, the sinks and toilets ones with automatic sensors. From the state of three of the stalls, however, they didn’t appear to function.

It only took a minute to empty his bladder, another to wash his hands, and five more to drench his head and neck with cold tap water. Bent over the sink, the water streamed through the strands of his hair, running clean into the basin. His eyes were closed, letting the water drown out all other sounds as the pill took effect. He had three left, enough to get him to California, or wherever he decided to ditch Duo at.

_Pathetic. What would he think of you, popping pills? He’d drop your ass off on the nearest curb._

_Just this once,_ Trowa promised himself. _Just until we’re through here. Just until we’re gone._

That’s what he’d told himself last time, yet he’d still kept those four pills. Would he tell himself the same at two? When there was only one left? Would the two guys rummaging for spare change offer a trade? The younger one might go for it; the younger ones were often more open-minded. And less rough on his mouth.

_You still have three, you don’t need to do that,_ Trowa reminded himself. The rushing water in his ears was calming, the white noise letting the turbulence of his thoughts fade and making the drug kick in faster. _Not as long as the driver remains consistent._

That was the issue, though. How long would this fortunate arrangement last? How long would it be before Duo decided to take what he wanted? Decided that, if asked, Trowa would do _anything_ to keep a hot meal in his stomach and to sleep in a clean bed? Duo didn’t _seem_ interested, and had matched actions with words, so far. It was more than anyone had offered Trowa in a long, long time, and he was hesitant to throw it away.

_Don’t throw that away,_ the hopeful part of his mind urged, even as he grew lightheaded and hazy. _Ride it out for as long as it lasts._

He nodded, finally pulling his head out from under the stream of water and bracing his arms on the counter, letting his hair drip into the basin. He grabbed a few sheets of paper towels, scrubbed at his hair to absorb the extra moisture, and then leaned his head back to brush his fingers through the strands, straightening the mess into a neater fall. In the fluorescent lights, blinding against the chrome countertop, the red in his hair stood out more than the brown, darkened by the water. His eyes were dilated, his skin flushed, and his heart raced even as his muscles relaxed, his fingers losing their iron grasp on the countertop.

Like this, he could face the next several hours. Like this, he didn’t have to think about _before_. Like this, nothing mattered.

The paper towels were binned, the sink and counter wiped dry, and his hands washed again before he left the bathroom. The two guys were gone, replaced by a woman helping a toddler refill some water bottles. The toddler squealed each time water splashed across her hands. Trowa forced his gaze away from them and back out through the glass doors, to where Duo’s car was still parked. The man paced back and forth beside it, one hand holding a phone to his ear while the other made sharp gestures to punctuate the words coming from his flushed face.

Whoever he was speaking to was pissing him off. Angry men never meant well for Trowa, so he stayed inside, torn between listening to the jovial toddler or heading back to the angry driver he’d be stuck with for the foreseeable future.

It never crossed his mind that he could leave, find a new ride, or start walking along the highway again. At some point in the last twenty-four hours, leaving had no longer become a viable option.

The woman and kid left after a couple minutes, and Trowa was left to his own silence. He leaned his head against the sun-warmed plaster, watching Duo circle around his car. His face was less red, his hands moving slower, though still clenched into a fist, his body still rigid with tension. Whatever had angered him was fading, the initial onset cooling into something manageable for Trowa. He could deal with this type of anger. If he was quiet and unobtrusive, it would pass over him. Pass to something else. Or fade entirely, if Trowa’s luck held fast.

It was as Duo made his twelfth round of the car that their eyes met, and the tension faded entirely from the driver’s body. He paused, lifted a hand in a wave, then lowered the phone from his ear and pressed his thumb to the screen. Trowa knew it was safe to come out now, and so he pushed through the door, letting it slam closed behind him as long strides carried him back to Duo’s car.

“Well, that was fun,” he said, sarcasm mingling with annoyance. “You good to hit the road again?”

“Mm,” Trowa hummed, and Duo moved back around to the driver’s side, sliding in as Trowa closed his door and reattached his seatbelt. He leaned his head back, the calming effect of the drug having fully kicked in now.

“I’ll let you know when we’re stopping again. Lunch in a few hours sound good to you?”

“Mm,” Trowa repeated, his fingers rubbing against the soft, well-worn leather of his bag. The shocks on this car were excellent for the bumpy highway road, barely jostling the passengers within as they sped down the highway. The world flashed by too fast for Trowa to see, and time grew as irrelevant as their surroundings. The world narrowed down to the feel of traveled leather under his hands and Duo’s singing in his ears, copper on his tongue mixing with the sting of Duo’s cologne against the inner lining of his nose.

Nausea was beginning to rear its head as Duo pulled off the highway, signs for food directing them to a drive-thru where two salads and chocolate shakes were divided between them. The blissful, relaxing haze was gone, and the jittery aftermath was left, barely subdued by the food.

“Back to earth again?” Duo asked, not sparing him a glance. Trowa flinched, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the door.

“Look, I ain’t the boss of you. You can do whatever the fuck you wanna. I would like it if you didn’t do it around me though, got it? If you need to take whatever you’re takin’, do it when I’m not here.”

Trowa’s throat was dry, his hands trembling.

“I ain’t gonna boot ya,” Duo assured him. “But I ain’t gonna tolerate it. I’ve been clean ten years, ain’t gonna risk it. It’s your body, your life, but I don’t need the temptation. Ya hear me?”

“Okay,” Trowa rasped. Silence overtook the car for a few minutes, the commercials fading in and out with the signal. Then, in a softer tone, Duo’s voice floated through Trowa’s distress.

“There’s some aspirin in the glove box if it’ll help.”

Trowa slid his fingers under the latch, the lever giving way and lowering the front of the box. A few papers, envelopes, and a couple bottles filled the space, though no gloves were inside, as the name suggested. He poked idly at the bottles, turning them so the names showed toward him, but neither of them were for headaches. Pushing the antacid and allergy pills aside, he slid some of the papers out of the way, digging for another bottle. It was as he pushed the registration to the left that he saw a glimpse of glossy pink, and he paused, eyes focusing on the corner of a photograph. He slid more papers aside to see the whole picture.

It was the driver and a little girl, cheek to cheek, the girl with her arms wrapped around his neck, and both of them wearing matching smiles and hats. Their eyes glittered the same shade of purple-blue, and while the girl had a much darker skin tone than Duo, several features of their faces were identical. The only major difference Trowa could see was that where Duo’s hair was straight and brown, the little girl had short, black curls pulled into two pigtails.

“That’s my daughter,” Duo said, and Trowa jumped, his hand sliding the papers back over the photo. He met Duo’s eyes, who only spared the spot where the girl’s smile had been another moment of his attention before turning it back to the road. “Was my daughter.”

Trowa didn’t ask. He closed the glove box, drawing his bag closer to his chest and resting his cheek against it, watching the landscape go by instead of asking the question burning on his tongue, or offering his condolence. The twelfth exit passed, and Duo still hadn’t rejoined his one-man performance with the radio. Trowa licked his lips, and with a soft, small voice, offered up the first words.

“She’s beautiful.”

“She is. Was. She was so beautiful.” The raw pain in Duo’s voice matched the ache in Trowa’s chest. “Looked like the spitting image of her mother.”

“I think she looks a lot like you. You both have the same… happiness to you.”

He thought he’d said something wrong at first, the silence was deafening. The emotion in Duo’s voice was painful in the wake of it when he finally said, “No one’s ever told me that before. Does she really?”

“You have the same eyes,” Trowa said, opening the glove box again and drawing the picture out. With a finger hovering over the photo, he circled her eyes. “She has your nose, too. And here, your jawline and face shape are only slightly different. Because of the baby fat. Her smile is the same as yours, too. And the little gap.” He let his finger move over each characteristic as he described them, and when he looked up from the photo, looking at the older face of the man immortalized in glossy ink, Trowa saw tears reflecting the afternoon sun in those odd-coloured eyes.

“Thank you,” Duo said. Trowa didn’t know what for, but he nodded nonetheless. Duo’s hand caught his wrist as he went to put the picture away, and with trembling fingers, Duo attached it to the dashboard, held in place by the temperature dial.

While silence overtook them again, it was different this time. The music played gently in the background, and Trowa’s head rested against the side of the door as they blew past the sign that welcomed them to Illinois.


End file.
